A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years
by AwesomeMango
Summary: Yuuma writes a letter to you, filling you in one what has happened the past 15 years. ReaderxYuuma. I do not own Yuuma or Vocaloid or this plot at all, I was simply inspired by the song. Lyrics: /art/A-Clingy-Boy-Sticking-for-15-Years-Lyrics-267566446


Dear (Y/n),

These poems I've written for you—I've sent them for 15 straight years, did you know? But still, no matter how much I've waited, you still haven't written a reply.

I always silently wondered if they were delivered, if you received them, or if you simply just threw them away. For those 15 years, these thoughts buzzed through my head every single day and second. Why haven't you written back to me? Did the thought slip out of your mind at some point of the day? Did my poems mean nothing to you?

But I write to you not to make you feel guilty, but to fill you in on what has happened. However, knowing where you may be, you might already know.

For the first year I had without you, I decided that I should write to you. This wasn't exactly easy—I was reckless, you see. I lacked the flowery detail that poems, letters, and any form of writing needed. But still, I wrote to you every single day without fail. I licked the stamps with insistence, sending you my heart's saliva.

The first year passed quickly and then the second came. I was still reckless. My house setting ablaze didn't even catch my attention! In fact, the flames licked up my clothes, too! And once I noticed, only my collar was left…

By the third year, though, I calmed down. I'd already reached the limits of literature, which was a big accomplishment for a wannabe-writer like me. I publicized my mixi journal and my favorites broke the counter (surprisingly).

In the fourth year, I wrote for a magazine. (For the money, of course. It paid more!) I branched out into social issues. I also decided at some point to release a poem compilation. It brought a lot of money into my pocket. Oh, and on another note, I often made fun of my boss (I took off and wore his wig once. The look on his face was priceless!).

By the fifth year, I was a pro poet. I captivated women in the age group of 20 to 34. But since I was so earnest, I saw other girls as inexperienced pansies.

By the sixth year, my body was ruined—I got into an accident that broke every bone and damaged every organ in my body, but still I wrote. I'd already passed 2,000 poems by then.

In the seventh year, I was in perfect form. I struggled to write more and often compared you to things—which now that I think about are a strange—such as extreme ironing or compound inner product space.

Even in the eighth year, I didn't change. I still compared you to peculiar things like winning every 16 sumo tournaments or an AMPA glutamine receptor. But you know, I think that those peculiar things make you special.

On the ninth year, however, everything changed. I had an accident and apparently, I suffered quite a blow to the head. I forgot my own name, my memories, my whole person—but I remembered one thing, which was my love for you.

Through the tenth and eleventh year, my memories didn't return. And yet, I loved you. All I could want right then and there was your reply.

Through the twelfth and thirteenth year, my memories still didn't return. But I still loved you. That was all I had left and I treasured it with all my heart.

Even by the fourteenth year, they still hadn't come back. Every day was frightening and uneasy. From the littlest of sound came my worst fears; from the tiniest of shadows came the monsters from my mind. I just wanted a glimpse of you—I just wanted a word from you. It didn't matter if it was a good-bye letter or a simple thanks, I just wanted to hear from you… You were the only thing that kept me stable, that kept me alive up 'til now.

In the fifteenth year, however, my memories finally returned. I remembered everything and burst into tears because I remembered…

That you died 15 years ago.

These poems written of my love for you, if they keep piling up, I wonder, would they someday reach you? I've thrown them into your room everyday through the open window, wondering that thought over and over again, holding onto the sliver of hope that I had left…

I know that hope was so small, but I want to believe and keep it, no matter the size.

I couldn't see you anymore, I knew, but I continued loving you. I can't and will not stop doing that—even after decades and centuries pass! Though I thought we'd meet again after so many years, you disappeared. But it's okay, I understand your situation. I know that one day we'll meet again. I just simply have to be patient.

Also, though I know this may not be possible, I will still wait for your reply.

And if I ever receive that reply, I will immediately write back!

As for now, I will simply continue to write to you.

Sincerely,

Yuuma


End file.
